Dark Blue
by justacommonview
Summary: Kurt Hummel is a depressed lawyer without much color in his life. However, an epiphany sets his love life and normal life into fast-paced motion. AU Klaine. Warning: suicide is mention very, very briefly, but that may be a trigger, so I'll play it safe.


**AN: Hi guys! So, this is my attempt at a one-shot…except for the fact that it's 15 pages long in a word document. Ah, well. The title is **_**Dark **_**Blue, after the Jack's Mannequin song, which I highly suggest you listen to either near the end or after reading this fic. This is **_**very**_** loosely based on how a couple I know met. And by loosely, I mean they were both lawyers too. Also, I sort of had the idea for this and started writing, without really being sure where it would lead me, so it focuses a lot on Kurt, especially in the beginning. I guess what I'm trying to show is that Kurt doesn't **_**need**_** Blaine to be happy, Blaine just adds to his happiness. I dunno. Also a lot of people may think they take things very quickly, but in my opinion they have one of those relationships where it's an "I've only known you for a day but it feels like we've been best friends forever" type of dynamic. And if some of the mentioned songs seem random, I basically put my iTunes on shuffle and what happened, happened. Before I forget, if you read my other story, Everything is Everything, thank you so much! Sorry I don't update very quickly. So, I hope you enjoy this! Don't forget to review, it's very kind and makes my day infinitely better.**

XXX

Kurt stood facing the mirror and adjusted his tie with a sigh. For the first time in a while, he truly observed his reflection. Despite being only 34, his once-flawless skin was beginning to show wrinkles of stress and age. His moisturizing routine had been dropped years ago, when all-nighters studying left no time for unnecessary grooming. Luckily, his hair was still a rich chocolate without any signs of gray, though his hairline had begun to recede. Gone were the coiffed and hairsprayed styles of his teenage years through his twenties; however, his hair was still long enough for him to keep it up and out of his face. Also gone were his high-fashion outfits and designer accessories. His eye for style remained, though, so all of his suits were tailored to fit well, his shirts were always crisply ironed and his shoes were always shined. Kurt sighed again, looking at the somewhat more haggard shadow of his former self. In his grey suit and maroon tie, he looked put-together and presentable, but the 17-year-old Kurt would not have recognized his future self.

Where was the dream? Where was his crystal countertenor voice, his Broadway aspirations? When, exactly, had the flamboyant and the fun been pounded out of him? When had he lost his very essence, the very things that had described him for so many years? 17 years old was half of his life ago, and he had no idea how so much could have changed.

It must have been that day at NYU, when he had been rejected from the theater program. It was a shame, had had been truly talented, but his audition was on the worst of days. He remembered having been sick and upset over something…what was it? Ah, yes. There had been a protest at a Glee club competition. Some homophobic group had stood outside, chanting and holding signs scrawled with derogatory terms. He had had things thrown at him, he couldn't remember what. He remembered looking at all the faces – old and young, even some children – and he remembered making eye contact with some of his classmates.

Yes. That's what it had been. Seeing that the night before he flew out for his audition was something he couldn't shake. It put him in a funk that felt like a dark raincloud hanging over him. It was a feeling that the sun would never come out again. That was why he couldn't showcase his talents at the audition. Luckily, he had applied elsewhere, and luckily, he had been accepted into Columbia. From Columbia he had been accepted into Georgetown Law, which must have been when he truly lost himself. The pressure of law school to do well distracted him from choosing outfits and taking care of his hair and skin. Soon he settled with dressing like everybody else, promising himself that after graduation he would have more time for self expression and being different again. But multiple internships and finally this job in New York had taken all of his time and money. As he moved up in the ranks of his firm, finally accepting his current job as a partner, fashion and music seemed much less important. He was making an almost six-figure salary and had an upscale apartment in the Upper East Side, what more did he need, really?

Kurt turned away from the mirror and looked back at the empty bed, proof that his boyfriend, Chad, had not come home yet from last night. He supposed that that must be what you get, dating a 28-year-old who you met on a rare trip to a gay bar. He knew Chad wasn't good for him. Neither of them saw it as a healthy relationship; both knew that Chad used Kurt for a place to stay while he partied and drank all night, waking up with a different man or woman every morning. So long as these strangers didn't turn up at his apartment, Kurt turned the other cheek, waking up alone each morning unless Chad was sick or passed out or burnt out. Chad and Kurt hadn't even slept together in months, and when they had in the past there was no passion, or energy, or feeling at all.

Kurt had stopped caring that the bed was empty long ago. Kurt didn't care about much anymore; it was as if his life was drained of color. He lived in shades of grey, which bothered him. He should be happy, he had all the reasons to: money, a nice place to live, a good job…

The more Kurt thought about it, the more pathetic it seemed. He had lost his creativity, his passion, his spark. He was no longer Kurt Hummel, the fashionable and witty kid from Glee Club. He was Mr. Kurt Hummel, Attorney at Law, the bright but loveless lawyer from New York. It was reminiscent of the movie It's a Wonderful Life. In fact, Kurt had contemplated suicide, once, when walking across Queensboro Bridge. But something inside of him told him that he couldn't go through with it. He still had the will to live, left in him, dormant, from his teenage years of abuse. No matter how bad his life was, he couldn't end it. Not yet. There was still possibility left. So had he taken a step away from the edge, taken a deep breath, and walked away.

Kurt snapped out of his flashback and looked at his clock. 6:05 am. He was going to be late because of his reminiscing, so he grabbed his briefcase and the morning paper and hurried out the door, skipping breakfast for the 3rd time in the past 4 workdays.

Kurt opened his paper as he took a seat on the train, surrounded by commuters clad in suits similar to his. Most also had their papers or books open, or had iPod headphones in their ears. Kurt breathed out heavily and began scanning the headlines, quickly skimming the articles relevant to politics and anything that may be mentioned at work that day, before flipping to the stocks. As he shuffled through the Times, he unconsciously stopped on the arts section. Thinking of his nostalgia from the previous morning, he began to read a critique of an avant-garde play that had opened recently.

XXX

Work that day was nothing special. A very small part of Kurt had been hoping that maybe something special would happen, after his morning of remembering. That same small part of him, he realized, was the high school kid still alive in him: the part of him that still believed in Disney movies and Broadway musicals and summer love. However, Kurt was living in reality, and work was work. He filled out paperwork, took conference calls with clients, and was informed by his secretary that one of his cases, a lawsuit, was going to court, and he had a meeting with the defense lawyer the next day.

Kurt sighed. He used to love when his cases went to court, especially as the plaintiff, because he could his sharp wit and argumentative skills, his two main assets as a lawyer. However, this case was bound to get ugly, with two major corporations involved. Plus, trials didn't have quite the appeal that they used to anymore. Kurt quickly went over a mental list of lunch places before deciding on Balthazar. While his secretary talked to the defense lawyer's secretary and made reservations, Kurt looked out the window and thought about what he was going to say, and all the work he still had left to do. He caught himself about to sigh again – he was beginning to realize that he sighed a lot, and it probably wasn't good for his well-being.

At 8:00 pm, Kurt finally finished writing a brief, and sat back from his computer, rubbing his eyes. Most of the other partners had left already, going home to dinner with their wives and kids, or going out to bars or cocktail parties to be social. Kurt was not enthusiastic about cocktail parties – or a wife, for that matter – and thus could stay later without guilt. However, as he collected his papers and grabbed his briefcase he decided that getting a few drinks at a bar wouldn't hurt. Maybe they would take the edge off the day, and make him stop remembering his glory days of high school.

Kurt got up, shaking his head, and left his office. On a whim, he decided to walk home instead of taking the train, considering it was a beautiful day outside. A few blocks away from his office, he passed a young man – he couldn't be more than 20 – playing a guitar while leaning against a building. The guitar case was open, a plea for money, but Kurt could tell from far away that there wasn't more than 20 dollars total – not much of an income for anyone. Normally Kurt would just walk past people like this kid, after all, if they were too lazy to get a job or go to school, they shouldn't be begging for his pity, but as he walked past the kid, he stopped. This boy has a voice like silk, smooth and clean and clear. It made Kurt put himself in the kid's shoes: low on money, couldn't afford college, the economy was tough. Not to mention, this kid could sing. He reminded Kurt of some of his old friends from Glee Club, who he had long since lost contact with. He reminded Kurt of his past self a little bit, too. Kurt listened to the lyrics as the boy concluded his song.

_Cry until there's no more tears_

_Put your head on my shoulder_

_I'll always be here_

_You don't need to say anything_

_No, don't say anything at all_

_You know I'm here_

_To catch you when you fall._

The boy strummed the last few chords and watched sadly as people walked by without looking at him. Kurt felt his heart break. He recognized that look well, considering how often his eyes had glazed over in such a fashion in the past 17 years. He took a deep breath and walked over to the boy.

"You're good, kid." He said somewhat gruffly. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, sir." The boy said, looking up at Kurt earnestly.

"Seventeen, huh. Where are you from? What's your name?"

"Jake, sir. And I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania about 2 hours away. You probably haven't heard of it."

"Nice to meet you, Jake." Kurt wasn't sure why he was being so nice to this stranger. He rarely talked to anyone unless it had to do with work. "My name's Kurt. That's a good song you were playing, who's it by?"

"I wrote it myself, actually…Kurt…" Jake seemed hesitant to say Kurt's first name. It was understandable, considering how polite Jake seemed, and considering the age difference. "It's called I'll Be There. I wrote it for my girlfriend."

"That's thoughtful of you," Kurt smiled. "Did she like it?"

"She broke up with me. She's never heard it." Jake said softly, looking down.

Kurt felt awful for this poor kid. He related so much: having come from the small town of Lima, Ohio, trying to make it in the big city, armed only with passion and talent…

Kurt pulled a $100 bill from his wallet, still unsure of why he was acting so strangely friendly. After a second of thought, he also pulled out his business card. He handed both to Jake with a small smile and said warmly, "Here. Call me if you ever need a place to stay or anything."

Jake looked up at Kurt and back down at the money a few times, seemingly struggling to find words. Kurt smiled in a way he hoped could be described as understandingly, and turned and walked away. He no longer wanted to go wash away the day at the bar. Today, it seemed, was the first day in a long time that had been worthwhile.

As Kurt walked, breathing in the refreshing night air, he thought about his thoughts that morning. For once, he was happy, happier than he had been in a long time. All because he had heard a kid playing music, and had stopped to give him money. To think that less than 24 hours ago, Kurt had been thinking that money should be the source of his happiness.

Kurt smiled and decided to take a detour in his walk home. He walked until he reached the Queensboro Bridge, and looked out over the water. He breathed in the air, and turned around to look at the city he called home. New York, the city of lovers and artists and businessmen, was aglow. People bustled along on the streets, ducked into clubs and bars, honked their horns in frustration on the road, and sat in skyscraping apartment buildings, oblivious to the world around them. He took another deep breath and sighed, but this time it was a happy sigh. He felt the stress and tension eave his body as his muscles relaxed, and for the first time in a long time, maybe even in 17 years, he thought that his life could get better.

XXX

Kurt got home to find Chad passed out on the floor, whether it was from drugs or alcohol Kurt couldn't tell. He felt the weight that had been lifted from his shoulders earlier that night come crashing back down as reality sank in. For the second time that day he had let reality escape him, and he let his mind wander into the fantasy world of his past. No. He couldn't let that happen again. Kurt bent down and picked Chad up, depositing him on the couch.

Kurt wandered into the kitchen, only to discover the little prepared food that had been in the refrigerator had been eaten, presumably by Chad. Kurt caught himself from sighing again, and pulled out a box of penne pasta from the cabinet. As he turned to grab a pot, his eyes landed on the stereo on the counter, which he normally only used to listen to NPR. Pot forgotten, he walked over to the small stereo and pressed the AM/FM button. Static began quietly playing from the speakers. He hit the SCAN button, and the first station to come up was an oldies station. Shrugging, he hit SCAN again and turned up the volume all the way. Fleetwood Mac's Go Your Own Way began blasting, and Kurt smiled, remembering how his Glee Club had covered some of the songs off of "Rumors" back in the day. He began humming quietly along to the verse as he grabbed a pot and set off to making his dinner. As the song got to the chorus, he found himself singing along. "You can go your own way, go your own way…you can call it another lonely day…" Kurt stopped singing abruptly when he realized what he was doing.

His voice…his clear, countertenor voice. It wasn't gone. He still had it. Kurt felt a smile spreading across his face as he picked up the lyrics again. He felt as though he were back in high school, back in Mr….what was his name? He wore a lot of vests….Schuester! He felt as though he were standing back in Mr. Schuester's room, battling the loud-mouthed brunette with good intentions – Rachel? – for solos. He felt his feet start to dance around the cramped kitchen, sashaying around the table, kicking one leg as he poured sauce on his pasta. He must have looked ridiculous, but it was worth it. He was happy, and he was having fun. The song changed to Melanie's Brand New Key, an old 70's song that was more suited to his voice. Kurt laughed and sang along to the parts he knew between bites of pasta and sips of a beer.

Kurt didn't go to bed until well after midnight that night, dancing along to oldies from across the decades – from Cee Lo Green's "Fuck You," to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing," both of which he remembered doing in Glee Club. He ended up bringing the stereo into his room, and let the oldies station play quietly as he drifted off into a blissful sleep.

XXX

Kurt inadvertently woke up half an hour early, feeling refreshed and not at all as if he needed to go back to sleep. Rolling over, he turned off his alarm so it wouldn't go off, and got up and opened the window. A slight breeze blew across his face, and bright sunlight streamed in, lighting up the room. Kurt, still in his boxers and a white t shirt, walked into the living room – Chad had at some point woken up and left – and out onto the balcony. He looked first up at the sky, which was a deep, seemingly endless blue. Then he looked down, at the cars far below him. There was a multitude of colors: not just the yellow of taxis, but reds and blues and silvers, standing out in sharp relief to the black tar of the street. Then there were the people. It was only 5 am, but there were already people out on the streets, on their way to work and school. Kurt was too high up to see many details of the people, but he could see blondes and reds and browns of hair, and chocolate and mocha and crèmes of skin color. Finally, Kurt looked out, to the rows of buildings down his street, each built during a different point of time, the brainchild of a person like himself, with a heart and a brain and hands and feet and skin just like him. There were glassy, boxy modern buildings and stone, sculpted old buildings. Kurt tried to take in every detail at once, because for the first time in a very long time, he was seeing the world in all its beautiful colors.

Suddenly remembering that he had a day of work ahead of him, not to mention a lunch meeting with the defense attorney, he turned and went inside. After changing into a navy blazer and striped tie over slimmer-legged slacks that he had bought but never worn, he went into the bathroom and threw open the cabinet. In it he found various hair products of Chad's, which he pulled out and quickly set out to using. Within 10 minutes, his hair was coiffed up into the peak from his high school years. He grinned at his reflection – the wrinkles seemed much less obvious now – put on a pair of dress shoes, and headed to the kitchen to make some toast for breakfast. While he waited for the toaster to pop, he ventured into the living room and noticed a pair of Chad's headphones, undoubtedly attached to his iPod, hanging out from under the coach cushions. Looking to make sure Chad wasn't in the room, even though he knew this for a fact, Kurt unplugged the headphones and stuck them into his pocket, pulling out his phone. After a quick search and a few seconds of downloading, he grinned proudly at a music app – he had no iPod and no music on his phone. Grabbing his now-finished toast and spreading on some nutella, he plugged the earphones into his phone, opened the music app, chose an online oldies station, and headed out for work.

On the train to work, Kurt scanned the headlines like he always did, but did so while humming along to The Rolling Stones' Get Off of My Cloud. He noticed a few people look at him askance, but brushed it off. He was listening to music again, after over a decade of only hearing music on the street and in restaurants and stores.

Work that day was work, as usual. But Kurt threw himself at it with a bit more gusto, playing music from the radio in his office as he edited briefs and filed contracts. He left the office at 11:30 and hailed a taxi, getting out a few blocks away from the restaurant. It was another beautiful day, so he walked the few blocks, humming to himself, with such a visible spring in his step he could have been skipping. Arriving at the restaurant, he quickly rearranged his face into a more serious expression as he introduced himself to the hostess and was led to his table to wait.

Kurt had been early, so he had a good ten minutes alone with his thoughts, during which he went over the case in his head and hummed Billy Joel's Only the Good Die Young. Luck had it that he looked up as the hostess led a very, very, handsome man in Kurt's direction. Kurt prayed to a god that he didn't believe in that this man was the defense attorney he was supposed to be meeting. He grinned and inwardly celebrated when the hostess led the man, who looked to be about Kurt's age, up to his table, smiled, and graciously excused herself.

"Mr. Anderson?" Kurt asked, extending a hand.

"Yes, pleased to meet you, Mr. Hummel," said the man, shaking Kurt's hand firmly. As they made eye contact, Kurt couldn't help but notice that he had the most gorgeous hazel eyes, with flecks of gold in them. Mr. Anderson grinned, and Kurt felt as if he could swoon. This man had the most amazing smile. Kurt might as well have been 17 years old again, and willing to love.

"You can call me Kurt," he said in a fashion that was far too breathy for his liking.

"I suppose you can call me Blaine, then." Mr. Anderson – Blaine, smiled warmly. "I must say, excellent choice in restaurant, I love the filet mignon here."

"As do I," Kurt smiled in return. "It's one of my favorite places to take clients."

There was a loud crash of thunder, and suddenly the sound of rain pouring down in sheets outside. Kurt and Blaine were seated a few yards away from a window, and both looked over simultaneously.

"It's a sign," Blaine joked with a chuckle.

Kurt laughed in return. "It's a pity, it was a beautiful day on my way here. I actually got out of my cab a few blocks early just so I could walk here."

"I always do that on nice days," Blaine said, "I love the feeling of fresh air in my lungs. People think I'm crazy and unprofessional, but I honestly don't care."

"I know! I was humming on the train today, I got a ton of crazy looks, but music just makes me so happy that it doesn't matter." Kurt couldn't stop smiling. He felt like Blaine understood him.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" Blaine leaned in, interested.

"To be honest, I spent a long time not listening to music," Blaine's face fell. "I was depressed, though I didn't quite realize that's what it was. But it felt like the world was all grey and there was no color, or music for that matter. Just static." He wasn't sure why he was spilling this all to a stranger, somewhat he was meeting through work, for that matter, but Blaine's face had changed from disappointment to compassion. Kurt continued. "I used to be in my high school's Glee club, and I loved Broadway and singing and fashion, but I got rejected from NYU Tisch, ended up at Columbia, and somewhere along the way became a lawyer. But yesterday, I started listening to music today, and suddenly the color came back to the world, and I'm actually happy, for once. So, to answer your question – I don't know. Oldies, mainly, because that's what I know."

Blaine smiled. "That's amazing how much music has changed your life." He reached across the table and put his hand on top of Kurt's, which was definitely not appropriate for a business setting, but Kurt didn't care. He could barely breathe. "I'm so sorry about your depression. I know how it feels. Mine didn't last as long as yours, but…" he trailed off.

"You can tell me," Kurt murmured. "—If you want." He amended quickly. "I understand if you don't."

"No, it's ok," both of them were talking very quietly. "First of all, I'm gay." Inwardly, Kurt cheered at this fact, but outwardly, he kept a somber face and nodded. "And at school, people weren't exactly…understanding of that fact." Kurt nodded again, able to relate completely. "I got pushed around, beat up...I was almost killed." Kurt gasped quietly. "Yeah, it got pretty bad. My mom, she wasn't _accepting_, per se, but she tolerated it. My father, on the other hand, abhorred it. He thought that maybe he could beat it out of me. Straighten me out, literally. I ended up in the hospital at least 3 times because of him. Luckily, I was accepted into a boarding school far enough away from home before it got too bad, but during the really hard times - I thought it would never end. I thought I was doomed to live life as a victim."

Kurt grimaced. "I know what you mean." he proceeded to tell Blaine about the jocks at school who threw him into lockers and called him names, and the homophobic rally that had, in a way, ruined his life, or at least his dream.

There was a sad pause in the conversation. The silence was not at all awkward, though. After a while, still talking in a low, contemplative voice, Blaine said, "I was in a Glee club too. My boarding school had an a capella group - the Warblers. I was the lead singer in my junior and senior years."

"Lead singer?" Kurt asked, impressed. "You must be good."

"Was. I'm afraid I've lost my talent. Like you, I came here for the stage, but I went to Barnard for Liberal Arts and did theater on the side. After at least 30 failed auditions - not even one callback - I decided that theater must not have been for me. I gave up on my dream and decided to become a lawyer."

"I'm glad you did," Kurt blurted. "Or else we wouldn't have met."

Blaine blushed, and ran one hand through his short, dark curls, which Kurt had been admiring since he walked in. If only he could tangle his fingers in those curls... Kurt blinked and snapped out of it. This was work, and he had just said something highly out of place.

Just as Blaine opened his mouth to answer, their food arrived. Kurt had forgotten that they'd ordered, having been too concentrated on Blaine. The waiter placed filet mignon in front of each of them, and then turned to go back to the kitchen. Kurt and Blaine had respectfully stalled their conversation to thank him. Kurt waited, fidgeting nervously, for Blaine to continue.

"I'm glad to have met you, too, Kurt. It's nice to have someone to talk to who gets me, you know?" he smiled.

"Definitely. I mean, my deadbeat of a boyfriend, Chad…" Kurt started.

"Boyfriend?" Blaine's face fell only infinitesimally, but Kurt noticed as Blaine quickly regained composure. Oh god. This was not at all the way he had wanted this conversation to go.

"No, I mean…" Kurt tried to backpedal, but realized it wouldn't work. "Yes, _technically_, I have a boyfriend. He's sort of a remnant of my darker days. I mean, he's hardly a _boyfriend_ at all, I hardly see him, and when I do, he's usually unconscious. I don't even know if he's actually _gay_. He'll sleep with anything that has two legs and is drunk enough to come home with him. I mean, like…we haven't even…not in a long time…he just lives with me…" Kurt heard himself stammering, something he hadn't done in a long time. He willed his mouth to stop moving but it just wouldn't. Finally he was able to shove a piece of steak in his house in order to stop chewing.

Blaine laughed a bit at Kurt's helpless antics. "Why are you with him, then?"

"Because, I –" Kurt stopped, realizing he had no idea what he actually planned on saying. "I don't know…"

"Don't let someone like him bring you down," Blaine said with an understanding smile, and then let the topic drop.

Kurt and Blaine stayed out to lunch for far too long, talking for half an hour both had finished eating, before sharing a crème brulee. They discussed work only briefly, quickly going over the details of the case before straying back to the topic of fashion, and maintaining appearance while staying in the constraints of protocol of the profession.

"I, for one, _love _suspenders," Blaine gushed

"Me too!" Kurt enthused. "And I love bow ties, but that look just wouldn't fit in at the office, you know?"

Blaine nodded in consent. "I can barely get away with my hair at work. I have to gel it down for the courtroom."

"Oh, don't," Kurt said with a smile, reaching across the table to finger one of Blaine's dark locks, beyond caring about the unprofessionalism of his actions. "Not for our case, at least."

Blaine turned red and looked away. "I like _your _hair," he deflected. "How do you get it to stay up like that?"

"Practice and a ton of hairspray," Kurt laughed. "I'm bringing it back from my old high school days. It's a part of my transformation."

Blaine laughed, and started to say something, but was interrupted by a phone call.

"Shit," he muttered. "Look at the time; it's after one."

_Shit_ was right. Kurt was missing a ton of work, he'd probably have to stay late at the office tonight. Apparently Blaine was thinking the same thing, as he reached for the check at the same time as Kurt did.

"I got it," they said simultaneously, and laughed.

"No, really," Kurt said, trying to pull the check toward him.

Blaine held fast. "Such a gentleman," he said with a smile. "But I insist."

Kurt laughed. "So are you! We'll split the check, how's that?"

They quickly counted out the bills they needed, put them on the table, and stood up. Blaine dug in his wallet and extracted a business card. "Once you figure out your boyfriend situation, give me a call," he said with a shy smile. Kurt took the card and returned the smile.

Blaine turned to leave, but Kurt grabbed his arm, and Blaine spun back to face him.

"Do you have work tomorrow?"

Blaine looked confused. "Yes, don't you?"

Kurt grinned in a way he hoped was flirty. "We'll see. Good to meet you, Blaine."

Blaine chuckled, seemingly less bewildered and more curious. "Nice to meet you too, Kurt." With that, he gestured with Kurt to leave the restaurant with him.

As they parted ways at the front door, Kurt stopped to watch Blaine's retreating back as it blended in to the sea of suits. "See you soon, Blaine," he whispered.

XXX

Kurt worked very, very late that night. He made up what he had missed because of lunch, and then worked for another few hours to lessen his workload for the next few days, before telling his secretary that he would be out the next day for personal business. He didn't get home until nearly one am, and walked into his apartment to a naked Chad making out with an equally naked blonde woman and a muscular, brown-haired man. Kurt recoiled and was about to back out of the room before realizing that at the moment, however close they were, they weren't having sex. He looked to the left, across from the couch, and saw a video camera resting on a tripod.

That was the figurative straw that broke his back. He slammed the door behind him, walked over to the camera, and turned if off, before knocking it to the ground.

"Hey, man! We were just –" Chad started.

"Get out." Kurt said quietly, but in a firm and intense tone, glaring daggers at Chad.

"Get out? What? You can't make me get out. This is our apartment." Chad stood up and walked over to Kurt, trying to get in his face. Kurt, however, found it extremely hard to be scared or intimidated by Chad due to his nakedness, which he was trying to hide with a pillow.

"Leave. Now." Kurt demanded. "And no, this is not and has never been _our_ apartment. I have always been the one paying the rent, cleaning up after your sloppy ass, making sure it was presentable, and I only asked one thing of you – don't bring anyone home. You broke the one rule that I made for you, and I need you to leave now. I don't need your sorry ass bringing me down any further than you have, and I know you don't care about me in any way at all. So get. The fuck. Out."

He turned his attention to the blonde and the brown-haired man. "Leave!" he ordered, pointing to the door. They practically tripped over each other hurrying out the door. Kurt turned back to Chad. "And you," he said with a grimace, "have 5 minutes to grab your stuff and leave." He looked at his watch. 12:48 exactly.

He looked back toward the door with a grimace, and looked back to Chad, who still hadn't moved. His voice dripping with sarcasm, he added, "Oh, and be a dear and pick up your...friends' clothes. Go!"

Chad scrambled up and into the bedroom, still naked and having dropped his pillow, grabbing things at random. Kurt observed from the doorway, making sure Chad didn't steal anything of Kurt's. At 12:53 on the dot, Kurt called "Times up! Now get the hell out of my home." He followed Chad as he trudged through the kitchen and out of the apartment, slamming the door behind himself. Kurt opened the door again, and holding the pillow between his thumb and forefinger as if it contained a disease, tossed it out after Chad. "Here, take this shit, cause I don't want it. Maybe it'll come in handy when you're living on the street!" Chad had grabbed the pillow and toward the back stairs, now clad in only a t-shirt, so Kurt finished his tirade for an empty hallway.

The same feeling that he had had the night before while out walking came back to him - as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He breathed a hearty sigh as he shut the door with a quiet click. It was now clear what he had to do. He had to call Blaine.

"Hello?" Blaine didn't sound tired or groggy, and Kurt was glad to have not waken him up.

"Blaine, it's Kurt."

"Oh, Kurt! Hi! How are you?"

Kurt sighed. "I'm…I kicked him out."

"What?" Blaine sounded utterly confused.

"Chad. That dumbshit was about to have a threesome on my living room floor. I kicked him out. He's gone for good."

"Are you sure, Kurt? Is he going to get mad and…"

Kurt smiled at the fact that Blaine was worried for his safety. "No, he's not that kind of person. Plus, he knows I could have the cops here in a second if it was at all necessary." He chuckled. "I'm just so, so glad that he's gone. I feel so much _freer_ now. Like I can finally be happy without having to worry about what's going to bring me down. It feels good."

"I'm happy for you, Kurt. I really am. I'm glad that your life will be better without him."

Kurt took a big breath in. The butterflies he had felt at lunch were coming back, and he felt like a high school boy all over again. "Blaine…do you want to...um, uh, grab some coffee tomorrow, before work?"

You could hear the smile in Blaine's voice. "Sure. Where and what time?"

"What about Viand at 7:30? It's at Madison and East 61st, and it's only a few blocks away from the park…"

"Yeah, I know that place, it's lovely. So, it's a date, then. See you tomorrow, Kurt."

Kurt smiled at the phrase "It's a date," even though he knew it was merely a formality. "See you soon, Blaine."

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief before realizing there was one more thing he had to do before he went to sleep. Pouring himself a glass of wine, he pulled open his laptop and went to iTunes. He needed to buy some music.

After purchasing about 50 songs, and downloading 25 more, (possibly illegally, he wasn't sure) he created a few playlists and synched them to his phone. Finally satisfied, he went to get ready for bed.

XXX

Kurt rolled over to his new alarm – NYC, from Annie – playing from his stereo. Looking up at his ceiling, he remembered everything that had happened the night before. He was free! He sat up in bed and once again saw the sunlight streaming in through his window.

But what to wear? Kurt fully intended to skip a day of work with Blaine, if Blaine consented, that is, so he wasn't boxed in by his usual constraints…but he had barely any clothes that weren't for work. He dug through to the back of his closet, found a pair of slim-fitting jeans, and looked for a presentable shirt. After searching for five minutes to no avail, he gave up and grabbed a white work shirt and black suspenders. He rolled up the shirt sleeves, struggled to pull on the suspenders, and grabbed a printed red scarf, that had been a present from a long time ago, unworn until now. He ran into the bathroom, fixed his hair up as he had yesterday, and found a pair of short lace up boots, which he stuffed his feet and then jean legs into.

He straightened up and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked years younger, as if he were in his late twenties. But most of all, he looked _good_. He couldn't help but smile at his ability to put together a classy outfit, even after all of these years. Humming to himself, something he now did as often as he used to sigh, he grabbed his black Ray Bans and leather laptop bag – it would work as a messenger bag, he supposed – and replaced his laptop with his phone, wallet, keys, and other necessities. He smiled. He was ready.

The coffee shop was not too far from his apartment, so Kurt decided to walk the few blocks. He passed another guitarist on the street. It wasn't Jake, however, it was an older man playing "The Girl from Ipanema" and singing the original Portuguese lyrics. Kurt smiled. He _loved _this song, even though he hadn't heard it in years. Kurt stopped again, and stood next to the man, waiting until he reached the female part. With a quick smile, Kurt picked up the song in English, his voice carrying loud and clear and familiar. "Tall, and tan, and young and handsome, they gu from Ipanema is walking…"

As Kurt finished up the verse and dropped a 10 into the man's bucket he had left out for money, he felt a presence behind him, and a person's face next to his. He panicked for a split second, until a familiar voice whispered in his ear. "That was beautiful."

Kurt turned, and without thinking, enveloped Blaine in a hug, which Blaine returned gladly. "Blaine, you scared me," Kurt said.

"Sorry…" said Blaine with a sheepish smile. "But really, you have a marvelous voice. Not to mention the fact that you look amazing."

Kurt smiled. "Thank you! And so do you." Blaine also had opted for a white dress shirt, but he wore a charcoal vest and black bowtie with it. Over all of this was a black leather jacket. He also wore jeans with oxford-style shoes, and a pair of pink wayfarer sunglasses. It was an unlikely outfit, but it worked on Blaine.

Blaine smiled and held out a hand. "Coffee?" he asked.

Kurt took Blaine's hand as an answer, and the two walked the half block to the coffee shop.

Blaine ordered a medium drip and biscotti, while Kurt ordered a nonfat mocha and a croissant, and the two decided to find a table and eat before deciding what to do next.

"I take it you're not going to work?" Blaine asked in between sips of coffee.

"What makes you think that?" Blaine gestured to Kurt's outfit and Kurt grinned. "Well, you're right. I'm taking a mental health day."

"Ooh, reckless," Blaine joked.

"You wouldn't care to join me, would you?" Kurt asked hopefully.

"Why, I'd be honored," said Blaine with a smile. "I think work can wait for a day."

The pair finished their drinks in a comfortable silence, and rose together to throw the cups away.

"Do you want to take a walk through the park?" Blaine asked.

"Sounds good to me," Kurt conceded.

They walked next to each other for about a block before Kurt awkwardly lifted his arm to put it around Blaine. Blaine was shorter than him, however, and he wasn't sure whether to put his arm around Blaine's shoulders or waist, and ended up settling for a mid-back position. Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist and leaned his head onto Kurt's shoulder as if this was something they did everyday.

They reached the park and sat down next to each other. Blaine took his arm from behind Kurt and interlaced his fingers with Kurt's.

Blaine leaned over so his face was right next to Kurt's. "Look, I know we have all day, and by the end we may well be sick of each other, but I have two tickets to RENT tonight, and I was wondering is you would accompany me…" he whispered.

Kurt grinned and opened his mouth to respond, but Blaine cut him off.

"…as my boyfriend?"

Kurt was elated beyond words. He turned to look at Blaine with a smile, and nodded. He felt a tear running down his cheek, but wasn't really sure how it had gotten there. All he knew was that he had a boyfriend, an honest-to-god boyfriend, who happened to also be gorgeous and fashionable and funny and sweet. Even two days ago, he would never have seen this coming.

Blaine leaned over and kissed Kurt lightly on the cheek, and Kurt started crying and laughing at the same time. Blaine squeezed his hand and laughed with Kurt. They sat there, on a bench in Central Park, for a good fifteen minutes, doing nothing but laughing. Both Kurt and Blaine were having the best times that they had had in a very, very, long time. They had found something they had both been missing – happiness.

XXX

**AN, take 2: Thank you so much for sticking through to the end. Depending on the response to it, I may write an epilogue, or one more chapter and then an epilogue. Tell me what you think! Also, I highly suggest that you look up these songs if you don't know them, they are all very, very good. Especially the title song, as I said. It's a nice song to sit and daydream to. Finally, in the final scene, (?) Blaine's outfit is basically this: /look/944365-prom-night-aftershow, with Darren's signature pink glasses, of course. Kurt's is made up I my head, and probably only looks good in my head. I say scene because I kind of see this like a short film, I guess, and it ends with a freeze frame of Blaine and Kurt holding hands and laughing, just as Kurt is leaning forward in his laugh…whatever. Don't mind me and my crazy. Thank you so much for reading, and please tell me what you think!**


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